“I’ve put on weight.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have,” she argued, blowing a blonde strand of hair off her face. “I’ve ripped the ass out of my jeans.”
I pressed a fist to my mouth to stop my laughter.
“It’s not funny.” Narrowing her eyes, she slapped my shoulder. “Don’t say anything about the size of my ass.”
“I love your ass,” I tried to coax, holding my hands up. “Your mother probably shrank your jeans in the tumble dryer.”
“No, because when I asked her about it, she said she dried them on the clothes line,” my girlfriend cried dramatically. “And then Kev said that I’ve an ass like a blowfish’s face.”
Now, I did laugh.
Loudly.
“Oh my god. You’re such a turncoat!” she screamed, spinning on her heels and stalking back to the weighing scales in the middle of her bedroom floor.
“Oh, come on, Molloy.” Groaning, I dropped my gear bag on the floor and walked over to her bed. “You’re not turning into one of those self-conscious girls, are ya?”
“I gained weight, asshole,” she shot back. “I never said I wasn’t beautiful.”
“There’s my vain baby.”
“Seven pounds, Joe,” she declared, arms flailing wildly, as her gaze flicked from my face to the mechanical scales she was standing on. “I’ve gained seven pounds since Christmas! Can’t you see it?”
Yeah, I could see it.
I’d been with the girl long enough to know every inch of her body, every freckle, scar, and curve, so the fact that she was recently sporting a few extra pounds wasn’t something that skipped my attention.
Her clothes, when she decided to wear them, clung to her hips and thighs in a way that they hadn’t a few months ago, but I sure as hell wasn’t complaining – especially since those pounds seemed to have shifted directly to her tits and ass.
To be honest, I thought she looked sexier than ever, but I wasn’t nearly suicidal enough to bring her weight up in conversation.
Especially when I was already skating on thin ice.
Whether it was to compliment her or not, I knew my role in this relationship, and had my lines rehearsed off by heart…
Hey, Joe, have I put on weight?
Where? Your imagination?
Hey Joe, does my belly jiggle?
You’d have to have a belly for it to jiggle, and you clearly don’t.
Hey Joe, you think she has a better figure than me?
Nobody has a better body than you.
Girls were dangerous creatures with hidden meanings behind every word they spurted, and Molloy was no exception to the rule.
She might be my best friend, and there was very little I held back from her these days, but I had enough of my balls still attached to know that there were two crucial no-go topics that should be avoided at all times.
The first was weight – her weight, to be exact, because apparently, she could comment on my appearance to her heart’s content, and suffer no such consequences.
The second, and most crucial, topic of conversation to never enter into was the one about previous relationships; or in my case the girls I had fucked in the past.
Yeah, that was a huge no-no.
Again, it didn’t matter that I had to sit in a classroom with her old boyfriend, knowing that, at one point in time, he’d had his fingers and tongue inside her.
No, being pissed about the four-year relationship she had shared with another guy was totally unreasonable, but so much as acknowledging a girl I’d been with, regardless of it being a one off, was a mortal sin.
Because you put your penis inside her, was the excuse I was given any time I pointed out the double standards.
You put his penis in your mouth, I felt like shouting back, but I had the wherewithal to keep my mouth shut and not open that particular can of worms.
“There’s nothing there, Molloy.” I leaned back on my elbows, thoroughly enjoying the floor show, as my girlfriend pranced around in her underwear. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“Yeah, I know that,” she huffed, catching ahold of my hand and dragging me over to the weighing scales. “But now I’m carting an extra seven pounds of gorgeous around.”
“The scales are wrong.”
“Three times?”
“You do realize this floor is uneven,” I tried to placate. “You’re never going to get an accurate reading up here, Molloy.”
“I’m not?”
“No, you’re not,” I coaxed, continuing to fill her up with the bullshit she needed from me. “I should know. It was fucking awful trying to measure these rooms for wardrobes. This whole house is out of alignment.”
She looked up at me with a hopeful expression. “Really?”
“Really, really.” Nodding, I hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her off the scales before setting her down. “Now, let’s get rid of this bullshit.”
“I’ll check one more time—”
“No, you won’t,” I warned, snatching up the scales and moving for her door. “Don’t let me catch you fucking around with this thing again.” Unlocking her door, I stepped into the landing and shoved the scales on the top shelf of the hot press before returning to her. “I swear those damn things do more damage to girls than Ouija boards.”
Molloy laughed. “How can you compare a weighing scale to a Ouija board?”
“Easy.” I shrugged. “They both summon demons.”
“I am completely fuckable, though, aren’t I, Joe?” she asked, hands on her hips. “You still think I’m the business, right? A few extra pounds or not?”
“Oh, you are beyond fuckable,” I coaxed, closing the space between us. “And your business is the only business I want to get caught up in.”
“Smooth.” Grinning, she hooked an arm around my neck and pulled my face down to hers. “Give me a kiss.”
“Speaking of getting caught up in business…” I trailed my hand down to the waistband of her big-ass granny knickers and pinged the elastic. “Please tell me these aren’t what I think they are.”
“Afraid so.” She laughed against my lips. “I’m spotting, which means…”
“You’re due on,” I groaned, letting my head fall back. “Fuck my life.”
“Come on, stud.” Reaching for my hand, she tugged me over to her bed and winked mischievously. “I’m sure we can be inventive.”
“You know, sometimes I really,” I breathed, trailing after her. “Love my life.”
LATE BLOOMERS
AOIFE
Late night visits and secret rendezvous became the norm for us, and as the days turned into weeks, and the winter made way for spring, the mile-high wall that Joey had spent a lifetime erecting around his heart continued to lower.
It wasn’t that his home life had become any easier; the opposite would be a closer comparison. The fights with his dad had significantly worsened, resulting in deeper mood swings and darker bruises, but his eyes remained clear and his head focused.
Most of the time, that intense focus seemed to remain honed in on me, and I wasn’t complaining. He spent every second of his spare time with me and having him close settled my anxiety.